


Don't Forget (to Not Remember)

by CanadianIce



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Chance Meetings, Cliche, Gen, M/M, Soulmates, Strangers, Sweet, Wishes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianIce/pseuds/CanadianIce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Alfred found stupidity, speaking so profoundly to the odd, blonde man with a majorelle gaze, he made no sign of it.<br/>He just kept talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Forget (to Not Remember)

For a moment, Alfred saw pictures - like a dramatic scene on a movie poster, or a popular stock photo of fantasy castles and shifting soil.

If he hadn't known better, the gripping, almost-sad feeling would've made him wonder if he himself were a character, forever plastered on such a poster, hair whipping in the cold, rain-smelling breeze like mud and wet pavement drying through spring. Perhaps a dramatic canvas - a rising, fire-lit sky would appear, dancing like a phoenix or a cluster of goldfish just over the deluge-slicked bridge, towering above as if it itself touched the sky where the fire might dance. Perhaps he, Alfred, would look up in horror or awe.

And in the moment, he did have such an expression.

If it weren't for the young man standing upon the bridge, in nothing but a short-sleeved shirt and jeans on such a cold day, looking to the water below as if he were the symbolic character in every fictional piece, who would _jump, jump ..._  and fall into the abyss, just to teach their protagonist a lesson - he might not've felt the way he did, imagining the young, sneaker-foot hero glimpsing upon the man with a wonder and urgency.

Sometimes they were saved, weren't they?

So he found himself walking, striding, then finally jogging up to the figure, shrouded and small among the stormy-afternoon gloom, an air which reminded Alfred of his old life and family in rainy London, which he hadn't seen since he'd left, passing the bewildered - even grief-stricken - faces as he did so. Nowadays, it seemed like the old city of his childhood was but a scene, a picture on the internet, accessed by a passive, subtle click. He didn't know what it really looked like anymore - he just heard it was rainy.

"Hey!"

It was when he was so close, a metre or so away, that the man turned around - and, reflected in his eyes, in place of the piercing, agonized gaze he expected, was something almost amused, lukewarm like a piece of jewelry after being worn against one's skin for long enough. And whatever he was doing out on the bridge the afternoon, watching the current with the sounds of cars crashing by, whether he was to jump or not - Alfred felt guilt in admitting to himself that whoever he was, he didn't seem all too dramatic a character.

"What're you doing out here?" He asked, finally close enough to inspect up close. 

The man had hair like honey amber, that clung moist and seemed to curl loosely inwards, framing his palish face and blue eyes, which seemed frustratingly violet depite having no trace of it. Majorelle, Alfred called them, for a shade of blue he'd seen labeled in the hardware store not long before - perhaps days, a week or so.

"I could ask you the same thing," The stranger replied. "Seemed like you were in a rush or somethin'."

He shook his head. "Nah, I'm not." Alfred dared a sideways glance at the water below, wondering what he'd been up to.

And he must've thought he was trying to communicate something, for the stranger, after a time, laughed. Almost. It wasn't something to be defined exactly as a laugh, more as an awkward giggle at something that wasn't supposed to be funny, but somehow was. "You thought I was going to jump, didn't you?"

"A little," He admitted, shrugging as if an act of nonchalance could make up for the rather embarrassing act. Of course, it shouldn't have felt shameful, wanting to help someone, but it was. Because he'd been wrong.

The stranger payed no mind. "I like to pass this way a little early before work, so I'm used to it. People always seem to think I'm going to jump."

Alfred perked an eyebrow to that. "Never seen you around, though."

"Yeah. Today's a special day."

Special days were supposed to be birthdays, and holidays. Unless it was the stranger's birthday or something, it couldn't have been a special day - and somehow, Alfred doubted it was. Despite the belief of his many colleagues, he was the observing kind, and he was smart enough to tell that this man had no birthday vibe about him.

"I got fired." He explained, but obviously not wanting to dwell on such a defeated mood, he decided to ask, much more cheerful, "And you?"

"Well, I'm, uh, going to work now." Alfred managed to choke out, feeling awfully terrible. It didn't seem fair, that one was fired while the other had full right to speak of their profession.

"Don't feel sorry for me," The stranger told him, after a moment or so. "I didn't really like my job anyways. Or my boss."

"What did you do?"

"Well, if you're asking about my past employment, I used to work for this business across town. Not very well known, offers services and the other. What I did to get fired? That's a pretty long story - my boss and I got into a huge argument about workplace issues, and then it got a bit violent." Even as he said it, his lips formed a vaguely triumphant sort of grin. He must've believed he still won, Alfred concluded.

"Which sort of isn't fair, because he was the one who punched me first. I don't hit without provo ... provocation, you know?" But still he wore that grin - something he'd done must have justified, in his mind.

Then, Alfred decided he liked this man. He was much like himself, in a way, but different. He couldn't help but ask -

The stranger beat him to it. "What's your name?"

"Alfred. Alfred Foster Jones." And once it escaped his mouth, he suddenly wondered if he should be concerned. Maybe this guy was a serial killer or something.

"Matthew." He kept it short, and there was just a hint of a shy, gushing tone in his voice. "Nice to meet you, Alfred Foster Jones."

Oh no - he wasn't one of those guys, was he? The ones who called people by their full name - or even worse, surname.

"Yeah, same."

"Same." Matthew echoed, and for the longest minute they stood there in awkward silence, not knowing whether to continue talking, or walk away. A few cars passed, as well as a moving truck, still partially open so the beige-brown cardboard colour was visible at the corner of Alfred's eye, with the rest of the vehicle. A fat city bird fluttered by, outlined against the dim, but clearing, sky.

"Another reason why you haven't seen me around much is because I'm sorta new here," The 'who' added without break, disoriented and rushed and something he'd most likely forgotten to mention before, when times were right. "I moved here from Ontario, a few months ago. Well, Southern Ontario, to be precise."

Inwardly, Alfred wondered if he'd suddenly remembered because of the moving truck. "Ontario?"

"Yeah. Province of Ontario."

"We have provinces now?" Oh, wait. That was when the realization hit, but it was already far too late.

Luckily (or unluckily), Matthew found his statement quite humourous. "No, it's in Canada."

"I knew that, I just -"

"- you weren't thinking straight." The now-confirmed Canadian finished, and Alfred was unsure of whether or not he should be offended, because it was exactly what he was going to say, anyways. It just sounded stupid, especially because it came from someone else.

"... Yeah."

The silence found itself lodged between lines again, like some less-than-masterfully-planned play or story. That's what it was. Stories. Dialogue. Sadly, Alfred was one to become easily wrecked when it came to casual talk, and it didn't seem that his new companion was much better. He saw it like this - one of them couldn't talk without saying something they didn't mean but said anyways, and the other just seemed to find it difficult to carry a conversation.

So they were quiet, as if waiting for another random sentence to be thrown into the blue, blue ocean, a little snippet of words in exchange for a slightly larger one.

"I've always wondered what it'd be like to have a real conversation with a stranger," Alfred found himself blurting, "not some cheap stuff like Omegle, but a genuine conversation. It'd always been a dream of mine, you know? Maybe you could just have this, like, really long and profound talk with someone you don't know, then go separate ways again. You wouldn't remember who they were, exactly -"

He paused to take a short breath, swallowing the saliva that had began to collect in his mouth from all the speaking. "- but you'll always remember the things, and maybe it'd change you. I've always wanted _the_  conversation, you know? The one that changes everything."

And suddenly, he wondered why he'd said it. Surely Matthew would laugh at his extreme cheesiness, and even if not, his job awaited him. He couldn't stay.

"Hm, yeah, I know." A light statement, which he then scrambled to correct. "Well, I mean, I know as in I know what you mean, not like, not like I know that you wanted that. You know?"

Perhaps Alfred had imagined it with his new-found knowledge, but it seemed that Matthew really did have a Canadian accent. A slight one, but it was still there.

"Yeah, I know."

A smile spread on both of their faces at his reply. Still, it dissolved to a silence, and Alfred realized what they were doing wrong - every once in awhile, one of them would throw in a conversation-ender, the kind of thing you said for a meaningful finish. There was almost an unspoken rule of English, in Alfred's view, about conversation-enders. You weren't supposed to talk after them.

"Tell me about your interests." He tried.

"Well, I really like hockey. Stereotypical, I know, but I really do. And I like long drinks, even though I don't drink much - I hold alcohol pretty well, so." Matthew gathered his thoughts. "I really like art. Like, contemporary art. And animals. Especially animals. When I was a kid growing up, all I wanted to be was a veterinarian. But then I ended up taking some crummy business course."

Alfred made a little 'huh' sound in acknowledgement, then stopped. There it was, that nervous twinge again. He was just so late for work - he would have to sprint, if he wanted to make it on time.

Start. "I love animals."

"I think everyone does ... that's the problem." When Alfred frowned, he continued. "But not enough people know how to treat them with like, actual respect. Imagine minding your own business, when suddenly everyone starts squealing and trying to pet you. And then there's people who take animals in themselves, when they find them hurt. I mean, it's alright if you know what to do, but if you don't, it could be -"

He stopped, and his face turned a little pink. "Ohmygod, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Alfred only smiled. "Not at all."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You think I'll see you again?" Alfred found himself asking.

The day had passed to clear sky, and they found themselves having walked slightly off the bridge, a few streets up but nowhere else. Cars always passed, the pavement dried, and every once in awhile Alfred would feel that little twinge again, telling him to head for work. 

He was glad he didn't.

"Don't count on it. I won't stay around long if I can't find a job."

"I could -"

"No, you shouldn't." Matthew gave a little hand wave, dismissing the idea idea. He didn't want that. "You said yourself, right? You're supposed to go separate ways after a meaningful conversation with a stranger. So it can like, change the world and stuff."

Alfred tried a dramatic, sad smile, which turned more like one pulling their lips into a thin line. Upon seeing his obvious disappointment, Matthew added - "Hey, you never know. Next time we meet, we could be on a train bound to Vienna, or in some futuristic post-apocalypse." A smile, soft and warm and reaching his eyes. "Yeah, I know you pretty well now."

That caused Alfred's thin-lipped grimace to lift and relax a little, so it looked more like a pale pencil curve. "Yeah, you do."

And for the umpteenth time, the conversation stopped dead in a moment of silence, because the conversation was a stone to swallow and Alfred couldn't help but take a liking to his every word. Matthew was a lot like him, and Alfred found himself rooting for him.

"So, I guess this is goodbye, then."

"As all clichés are." Matthew replied, bouncing his words almost playfully.

"Are we friends?"

"I don't know. Probably?"

"Yeah."

"Bye."

"Bye." And Alfred began to walk away again, down the sidewalk with the sky-lit stores and sparsity of customers, for everyone was at work the time of hour. It was then, the urgent twinge was replaced by a gnawing, and, he realized, for a completely different reason.

When he looked back, Matthew was still there. 

"Don't forget to not remember who I am, okay?" He called from afar, and Alfred smiled wide once again.

"I'll try!"

 

 _I don't think I can forget._ Alfred thought to himself as he made the final walk away.

 

He didn't look back again, though.


End file.
